


Better, Even

by drvology



Category: Batman (Unspecified canon), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's simple, really--Dick has a very complicated "thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better, Even

**Author's Note:**

> B:TAS is my favorite Batverse incarnation; it's become my default setting when imagining the characters &c. That established, I think the fic I write can be aptly labeled 'canon & time nonspecific.'  
> → Written in an hour for 60_minute_fics challenge group @ LJ || 121506 Prompt #1 _Hero Worship -- Every fandom character has a real person, or other fictional character that they'd dearly love to meet in person. Write about a character's exchange with their own personal hero, and then take it one step further by having your character relay the meeting to someone else, and have their tale met with utter disbelief._

"He was--"

"What?"

"Just. God."

"He was _God_?"

Dick scowled at Bruce. "No. He wasn't. Isn't. You know that."

"Could have fooled me," Bruce said with a laugh, sahara-dry humor ringing the soft sound.

Dick made a face and looked away. They sat in silence and he crossed his arms. Fumed. Squirmed. Decided it had been stupid to have mentioned it, even.

It was just.

He had a thing. A total _Thing_. For hunky guys in costumes and capes with bright colored emblems on their chests. Now, granted, he found Batman's color scheme much closer to his liking. He preferred the cowl, as well. Much better than the classically chiseled handsomest man dark hair curlicue look.

Still.

There was his thing. With the tights and the broad chest and the bulging muscles and throw in a belt and a cape and he was doomed.

Plus, this guy definitely had the goods. And bulges. And a really, really nice cape.

Dick closed his eyes and remembered--top to bottom--and yeah. Talk about doomed.

He groaned, bit it back, too late. He could feel Bruce watching him, could feel the hot wash of color that had shot up his neck to stain his cheeks and cover the freckles the summer sun had put onto his nose.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Dick snapped. His lip lifted in a mock of Bruce's smile and he bobbled his head back and forth, muttered the, "Well?" of false interest.

The Thing wasn't his fault, not by a longshot. Oh no. Unlike most horny driven-crazy oversexed teenage boys he didn't have a well-hidden dirty magazine stashed away, late night _brief nudity_ cable flicks and his imagination. He had a gorgeous, broad, rippling, imposing, gorgeous, rich-voiced, amazingly strong handed, gorgeous, flawed, sarcastic, mocking gorgeous man to be confronted with. Day into night into day and on again.

Sharp dressed in a suit that cost the gross national product of a small country wasn't enough. Sinfully debonair in a tux and white scarf all delicious man-smell and cologne wasn't enough. This gorgeous jerk had to dress up like the shadows, heroic and proud and invincible, a cut of perfection against the moon, dark leather-wing cape flying free behind him. Legs and arms all muscly and bound in smooth fabric that fit like another skin, trim waist accentuated by a tool belt on steroids, mysterious blue eyes the only feature revealed beneath the awe-inspiring cowl complete with pointy-freaking-ears.

Add to this a daddy complex and a hero-worship obsession that had him stuffing himself into tights and a belt and a cape every night to follow in Batman's footsteps aching to live up, to please, and there you had it.

Was it any wonder Dick had a THING?

"Did you two get to talk?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Bruce. Right after I informed him you were trapped in the vault and the live charges Lex and The Joker had set were enough to blammo Metropolis off the map we gee-whizzed over our favorite cars and video games."

There was a distinct pause, then Bruce pulled in a breath. Dick set his shoulders, waited, counted it off. One, two, three-

"It's okay that you like him." So reasonable, even-toned, ready to help now that the stony silence then merciless teasing was over. "It'd be easy enough to see him again." Bruce patted Dick's shoulder. "You could have met him before now, you know. I mean, Clark and I are friends."

Dick sighed and shrugged from under Bruce's hand. It burned--as did his eyes--and he stared at the far wall of his bedroom. He was glad to be home, present circumstances included, knew this here talk was an inevitable part of having returned. He liked field trips for 'business' well enough, but nothing slept like one's own bed. Which was part of the issue, because he and Bruce on his bed and these thoughts and his Thing all excited by Superman close-encounter then nothing-but-Bruce thereafter meant danger. As in blaring for Will Robinson run it's go-time.

Instead of running--then having to come back because, hullo, his room--Dick pretended to search for an answer.

"I wanted him to--for us to meet--" Dick's breath rushed in a frustrated stream. "It's stupid. Never mind."

Bruce's hand found him again, this time with one blunt thumb rubbing into his hair at his nape, wrap of long fingers warm on his neck. "You wanted to meet him as an equal, not a kid or my ward. Because of who you are, not who I am."

He exhaled, shaky and slow, nodded and felt relieved at being understood, so easily. Felt angry that Bruce was gonna fix this now, too, on top of everything else. A little cold-shoulder annoyed over Dick's starstruck at meeting Superman for the first time, a little ribbing to put him back in his place, a little tidy clean up make the Boy Wonder feel good again. Easy as that, doncha know.

Fingers on his skin, thumb in his hair and yeah, that Thing. Voice quiet and rumbly, body heat rippling into him as it emanated from Bruce's powerful frame twisted next to him, so close next to him, and he did feel good again, dammit. His eyes drifted shut and he didn't see Superman muscles and that deep-cleft display of manly beauty. He didn't picture a sweeping streak of gray-and-black blur against the sky. He saw Bruce, lips gone soft, blue eyes without the frame of the cowl, arms open to him, ready.

Without thinking he swayed, knocked into then burrowed against Bruce. Dick forgot there wasn't readiness, or anything understood beyond the surface, and pressed tighter and tighter.

Bruce surprised him--white shock enough to steal his breath--when he heard a groan, was hauled by strong arms that shuddered, face framed by fingers that trembled.

They kissed, sweet lip to lip sure, then Dick chanced a taste and Bruce truly opened, pulled him in, ready, and it felt they'd been waiting so very long.

Superman had listened to him, taken him seriously, forthright called him _Robin_ like a peer, and they'd figured out what to do together. It'd been a compliment and a given, had him confident and competent, and Dick had loved the thrill of being taken at his duty, his ability, so seriously. Superman had been studly, almost overwhelming, larger than life in the shine of Dick's eyes. Maybe if they hadn't been intent on saving Batman's life, he wouldn't have forgotten to swoon or score a handful of genuine Kryptonian hardbody.

Maybe. See, his Thing--it made the other guys in muscles and capes easy on the eyes. Made it easier to watch the flutter of red that revealed one very fine ass. Sure. But the truth--his _Thing_ \--was about this, was this, right here.

No cape, no cowl, no heroic pose standing tall for justice in the face of evil.

Dick sighed, long and dreamy, grinned goofy with each kiss. Then another. Then another. Then a few more ended, and Bruce tucked him to fit, head under chin, body curled inside the hold of Bruce's.

"So?"

Dick managed to hum.

Bruce laughed, light and easy and different. Knowing. Dick shivered and they kissed again, short and hard.

"So do you want me to have Clark into Gotham--dinner and a movie then show Supes the sights? Have your hero at your beck and call for a weekend?"

Dick fingered Bruce's collar, now askew. Suit jacket gone, dress pants rumpled, sock-feet dark blue on the carpet. He imagined all the gorgeous things under those clothes, knew suits and tuxes and even the Batsuit would never look the same.

He shook his head, hooked his fingers at the jut of Bruce's jaw and leaned back with a smile. Bruce held him, searched, smiled back, and finally they were where they belonged.

"Naw," he slurred after another--three--kisses.

Bruce's nose nuzzled along his cheek. "No? Hm." Wheels turned, worked the conundrum. "Why not?"

Dick nipped Bruce's neck, tilted his hips so his ass brushed over then pressed into the bulging hardness that wasn't muscle but was most definitely all Bruce.

Another pause--longer--kisses and top clothes shed and eventually they were snuggled on the bed, Bruce on a pillow, Dick pillowed on Bruce, blankets shimmied free and settled over them.

"And?" Bruce prompted.

"Oh." Dick breathed deep--Bruce manly cologne perfect his right here--and sighed. "Already have that," he said simply, curled his leg when Bruce's hand spanned the small of his back.

He smiled because he felt Bruce's smile, because of this, God indeed, _this_. Because as they drifted, dozed, kissed, he thought, what was so bad about his little Thing, anyway?


End file.
